The count had almost reached Monsieur Glumeau’s house, when a gentleman who came from it, and walked toward him, stopped and uttered a cry of surprise at finding himself face to face with Monsieur de Brévanne. He in his turn examined the person who stood before him, then held out his hand, saying:
“I am not mistaken, it is Monsieur de Merval!”
“The Comte de Brévanne!” cried Monsieur de Merval, grasping the hand that was offered him. Then he added: “I beg pardon, but you have dropped that name, I believe?”
“Yes, they call me Malberg now; but to you I shall always be Brévanne. This is a meeting which I was far from expecting, but of which I am very glad. Are you coming from Monsieur Glumeau’s?”
“Yes, I have been to apologize for not accepting an invitation which they sent me a fortnight ago, to a party that they gave.”
“I know, I was at that party.”
“You were at that party?”
“That surprises you, does it not? I am a neighbor of the Glumeaus; my place is only a few steps away; will you do me the honor to come there and rest a moment?”
“I should be glad, but you are going somewhere?”
“To my neighbor’s; but that visit can be postponed, whereas our meeting is one of those happy chances which I wish to take advantage of to talk with you,—that is, if you have the time to listen to me?”